


A Scarecrow In The Garden

by weekdaydinnermenu



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DC Comics
Genre: Alan Grant based Crane, Darker Batverse, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ivy based on mix of whatever, Lots of quotes and book stuff, Masturbation, Mutual Non-Con, Not a good Crane, One Shot, Painkillers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexist Language, Shameless Smut, Smut, This Crane really really loves books, batman rogues - Freeform, inspired by a talk and pic, might edit this up later, quick fic, shameless headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekdaydinnermenu/pseuds/weekdaydinnermenu
Summary: “I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.”Jonathan Crane finds that when bartering with a certain lovely plant-based individual of Gotham, his own decisions regarding the matter are out the door and then some. ❀





	A Scarecrow In The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what to even put for this, tags pretty much sum it all up. Random, but Hammy is a character from 'Identity Crisis' Batman #455. I've embellished him a lot, but did not create him.

**11:05 PM //**  
  
**Location: Outskirts of Gotham City**  
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  
  
**[July 10th]**  
  
Through the brambles and muck did the lanky legs of The Scarecrow traverse to reach his destination. The ensemble he had on meant little to him, a near remnant of former endeavors. Still, an occasion like this called for such an outfit. He had decided to leave his favored crow Nightmare behind, finding the fog perhaps best left to only him and younger corvids. His favored crow was getting up there in age and found preferential treatment from Crane for several years now. Instead, a horde of a younger murder he had come upon was flying above him, perhaps ten or so he reckoned.

He would admit they were a silly group, yet had proven themselves already loyal and it was with the most unfortunate circumstances on their behalf did a local mafia subordinate lose both eyes just weeks ago to one he affectionately referred to as Knight, for her temperament was bold in nature, and she oftentimes found his shoulder a fine place to perch. Even now, she was flying far lower than he had found the others would, dipping in as if to perhaps check in on his being.

Cicadas and all sorts of creatures were making sounds as he approached the entrance to the building, finding himself nearly within reach. It wasn’t without thorns in his burlap pants and straws missing from his hat did Crane reach the old warehouse that was his destination. He was so engulfed in removing the briars from his pants that it was with a surprise did he find himself greeting the guards that came out; humanoid in nature they were, but they were more of a resemblance to a plant-based Clayface than anything. He would admit, he felt more than an uptick in his heart rate, which settled as they just simply opened up the door. He smirked in amusement upon thinking it was for him, but as a figure he more than recognized stepped out, it was clear who the door was being opened for; Poison Ivy. A voice smooth as velvet and breathy as an autumn wind spoke.

“Jonathan, you really didn’t have to put on such fineries for me. Now, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself. It somehow fits you, though.”

It was certainly with a bitten tongue did Crane hold back his words. Without his fineries, he would have positively had even more cuts and thorns upon his being. Even though Scarecrow found a scythe would do well to cut down what he viewed as an unruly weed, he would admit no woman far more enchanting took up residence in Gotham. He couldn’t tell if it was the pheromones she let off or the form so pleasing in appearance that drew him to pause before answering. Her dense shock of red hair had become only more overgrown with what appeared to be ivy. Up her legs and amongst her green skin did tendrils of more vines grow. She was some otherworldly being, a dryad among mortals. In the way of clothing, she wore nothing but the ivy and various flowers that bloomed around her. He spoke.  
  
“As captivating as Demeter, as wise as Athena,” he began, privately desiring to add Deliah to that list as well. ' _My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies'_. It’s never too far a trek to witness such astounding beauty; although, I have come calling for the intellect, have I not?”

Ivy allowed no smirk to grace her face as she held out two vials that he had somehow not noticed before.

Just as Crane reached into the small burlap satchel he had brought, he felt a warm hand upon his own. Even within the gloves, he could feel the unusual heat from her body. He tensed from this in a way that he clearly did not intend to. With a swift motion did he secure them into a protected area of his satchel. He hated to acknowledge it, but one of his far more concentrated doses of fear-gas had to be formulated with one of her own self-made chemicals; this he had discovered during his time in Arkham. Vials of diluted versions had made their way onto the market and if the truth be told, Ivy didn’t truly mind this; she was making new versions so often that it did little to even give it second thought. With a low chortle, she answered.

“Is The Scarecrow afraid of a little kiss? Jonathan, Jonathan; you have always underestimated your value to me.”

His voice was taught with near outrage at this point. It was _her_ that had worked with Batfreak for an antidote to his own toxin, it was this temptress that had stood between him and defeating his true nemesis! Without her antidote, Batman wouldn’t have been able to recover from his toxin that night he stole the Sumerian tablets, he had surmised. This cunning Jezebel, this wicked individual before him! It was with even more heated rage that into his mind jumped the thought; would I be so different had I her powers? It was with ardor upon his cheeks did Crane find his words come to him.

“Considering the abundant amount of times you have chosen to help a certain foe, why, I wonder anyone’s value to you, Dr. Isley.”, his last words hardened in nature. He knew the ire it might draw out of her, yet knew they were some of the only major chemical providers at this point in Gotham. Crane believed she needed his wares just as much as he needed hers at times. He resumed speaking, not even daring to refer to her in any term of what he deemed pseudo endearment. “ _Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe_ ”, as Milton has so truly stated.”

Crane found the few seconds of silence longer than any he had come upon in recent memory. He had already transferred funds into an account, what more could she want he asked himself?

“Do you just wait to spout book quotes, or do you use them for yourself in your own solitude?” she replied, only stepping closer towards him until no space was between them. “It doesn’t matter. Oh, and for all the pleasures we do share together, Jonathan, please; call me Poison Ivy.”

Whatever gods there were, they were certainly not helping Jonathan Crane tonight.

_**Magnolia….honeysuckle…..no, lilac….no, it was…a scented primose….an Easter Lily picked just before the dawn….** _

Well, Jonathan wasn’t quite sure what her scent was; just that it was so intoxicating he scarcely noticed that his own mask had been lifted just above his lips. He didn’t dare allow his breath to hitch.

Ivy imagined she could have continued their banter; and if truth be told, she ordinarily fancied it to some extent. But tonight she had plans, and her straw-filled colleague needed to be taught a lesson. They were touching chest to chest, Ivy relishing for a moment the subtle twitch his stern face made as she caressed his gaunt cheek. He could do nothing as his arms felt nearly stuck to their position.

“Oh Jonathan,” she nearly sighed, her green eyes not once leaving his blue ones. “Every garden needs a scarecrow. When I’m done with you, you’ll know. Don’t worry, I’d only use you as useful mulch. Besides, I need all of you as a distraction for Batman while I work on a far more important matter. Something you’ll never grow from as I have.”

Hands heated as a lightbulb and nearly searing in nature grasped both sides of his face before a hot kiss was planted upon his lips. He had no time to register her comment, let alone her warm and wet mouth pressed to his. The first time this had occurred, so many years back, his body stiffened at this response, it remaining his true first kiss. He had the one odd date in college at the behest of a professor, although it had ended in no more than a kiss upon the cheek. Nothing had ever stirred him to take any further incentive and he never contacted the individual again. But perhaps now, as her auburn hair with too many vines to name, like some nymph from his ancient texts, did she... ** _..NO!_ **  
  
He began to think of a certain tale that took place between a western sea and the cliffs of Scylla. Both individuals were at least aware that after exposure to his own set of chemicals for years now, he had a moderately delayed reaction to her own pheromones and chemicals of the like. He was far from immune, yet was able to break himself from the thoughts and reactions she had inflicted upon him more than most.   
  
It wasn't enough that he had to nearly beg her for chemicals, but the fact she always lorded over him the information she was his first kiss was agitating in a sense, much to the amusement of the entire rogue gallery. This knowledge was only privy to her from a form of truth serum she had embedded into her own toxin that she had used with lipstick at the time; now, she was the venom. Even still, he couldn't help but think at just how much easier this would be if he simply acquired the formula for the specific chemical he needed, so to speak.   
  
His mind was so avid in trying to avoid what felt like her own form of contagion take effect. Dizziness overcame him, yet his mind found itself steady in thoughts. He thought of coffee dripping into a pot, the smell of a dusty book, the way a blanket can catch on the leg, a phantom hand reaching from nowhere to grab an ankle, chalk dragging across the board. Scarecrow found his thoughts now concentrated upon what was happening just around his neck.  
  
One hand had left his cheek to pull the ill-fitted noose closer to her, in turn deepening the kiss in a manner he was not expecting. This was no Shakespearean kiss Jonathan had imagined to perhaps possibly enjoy. When he ever allowed himself such thoughts, what pecks he did think of were not as unruly in nature as the brambles that seemed to follow her where she stepped. Even now, dark green tendrils had made their way around both of their feet. What had felt like only a slight brush against his body before had somehow become what felt like a warm melding of sensations. His mind hastened to find thoughts elsewhere.   
  
_**The zona fasciculata of the adrenal cortex is the widest zone, body pushing forward with an inflammatory reaction...**_

Scarecrow could place nearly each individual systematic reaction that was coursing throughout his body. Even if he had somehow desired to intensify the kiss, her own toxins had rendered him so still that he knew in that moment he was leaving at her choosing. Already deeming himself one step ahead, he had allowed his body to remain in a state of stillness and deep-thought. His reflections were only allowed to break from this once her lips left his. He heard a short laugh and comment on how he was one of the few to never move upon kissing. Ivy would give him that, his reactions to her were charming on a level that -while not matching Batman himself in any manner- was still intriguing; Jonathan Crane was not like other men in this sense, which made their encounters more agreeable to her.   
  
A stinging sensation was felt upon them, almost as if a chemical were somehow evaporating. Without even thinking, his lank fingers ran under his lips and then on them, finding a near powdery residue upon his fingers that disappeared before his eyes. A look of repugnance could be found upon his face observing this. He could feel his face heat even further upon this discovery. 

“What have you given me?” he said almost under his breath. “How am I to get back tonight? You utter, tricky….”

Upon his rage did the two humanoid plant monstrosities step forward, sensing his ire and raised pitch. In a near instant he stopped, instead deciding to give her such a glare that his eyes felt almost seared into hers. In truth, they were burning so harshly from her chemicals that he had to nearly squeeze back tears. What was most damning to Jonathan was that, even without her pheromones and chemicals alike, he still found her so exquisitely captivating that it was such a wonder a creature like her existed. Even outside her own physical beauty, she possessed such intelligence he would give her some credit for having eluded Bat-Freak in her earlier days. With her powers now, she was some force that even Arkham could not hold; her motives so mysterious that she didn't seem to have to a real mode of operation anymore. The near plant-like being stayed back in her own lands most days as far as he could tell, only coming out when truly needed; even then, Batman surely had to know that no cell could hold her for long now. As a willow waits during a summer storm did she bide her time. Scarecrow pulled his mask back down and situated his staw-topped hat, which she had apparently muffled during their encounter.

He tightened the thick knot further upon the neck of his mask and made an almost huffed sound. He wouldn’t even waste a quote on such a minx he told himself! How her graceful hand had touched him, how she seemed to have no fear of him; for deep down…. _ **.curses, why was he thinking this!**_  
  
Quickly wiping those thoughts from his mind, his voice was finding more assertiveness than Ivy assumed most would use when addressing her in the current state. Whether he chose to admit it or not, he wore the mask for his own benefit, for he could feel his own face flush even deeper at such ideas. With biting words did he choose to leave her, not once turning as he backed up. Scarecrow wouldn't allow himself to be humiliated in such a manner without such sweet, parting words. 

“Then what a lovely chat indeed. I shall keep the bat in the belfry, for what better is there to do? My goals will always remain tangible, each shriek added to my collection a gratifying occasion. How far more pleasant than watching the world further destroyed with each passing second. Although, that’s your own personal crusade, isn’t it?” 

If it wasn’t for the simple fact he often chose to lead Arkham in a madhouse escape just when she needed it, Ivy would have found it better to erase the overbearing, paper-wasting fool from existence. When she had found herself poisoned by an experiment courtesy of Jeremiah Arkham, it had been Scarecrow that allowed Harley access to his vast amount of chemicals after much sobbing, pleading, shirt-grabbing, and threats. She would never hear the end of it if she killed “ _our dear friend Professa' Crane_ ”. Before he could speak any further, she ended the conversation before he said something he might regret. To see her smile as if she was looking at a new bulb that had just sprouted was something to fear in its own right.

“Perhaps if I see you rooted to the ground here any longer, I might just consider my earlier comments regarding what _delightful_ compost you would make. Don’t you have pigeons to scare and toxin to overdose on, dear?”

With a simper did she flick her wrist, vines and thorns seemingly closing up what barrier they had between them, allowing him to just barely watch as she advanced into the building, her own monstrosities glaring at him until he continued retreating. The sounds of crows above had only increased in nature. He finally turned once he was across a shoddy makeshift bridge. His head was rushing from the kiss as he headed back towards his hideout. Scarecrow estimated he was approximately twenty minutes away walking, not daring to once stop for - dare he admit it - worry he might not be able to continue on until whatever she had given him wore off. It was moments like this he disdained thinking he wasn’t nearly as young as he once was. He filled his mind with _The Book of The Dead_ and _Code of the Nesilim_ , with random poetry finding its way into his remembrance, his mind even humming an odd nursery rhyme simply to keep the tune. Scarecrow felt beads of sweat drip down his face, although not even once did he consider that he should remove his mask. He looked up and continued to walk towards the way of his crows. Seeing rolling hills in the distance, Scarecrow could make out the image of the barn he had taken up residence in. His skin felt as if it was nearly melting as he pushed open the door, not once even allowing himself to gasp for breath despite feeling such a requirement to do so.

Crane didn’t even notice the jump from his henchmen, who had clearly been playing a game of cards while enjoying some obviously hours old pizza. Knight had broken off from the rest of the others who were still outside and landed upon a small chair that Crane used to steady himself. All but one henchman seemed to fumble, rising out of his seat and adjusting the gun near his side. Hammy had been a favored henchman of Cranes’ for several years now. Hammy had once to truly go to prison and seemed to enjoy his company in a workman's sort of manner.

“I ain’ never seen anyone run faster than the boss, faster than a ute!”

While most would expect Crane to only grow furious with such statements at the moment, he knew at once it was to break the tension and huffed breath. Hammy had been the only one to be made aware of his true intentions for the outing he had just come back from. Nearly insisting upon going with him, Crane firmly replied he was far better off watching over the other imbeciles. The five henchmen in the back gave off unmistakably forced laughs, all agreeing in some form or another. He felt his glasses shift as he adjusted his loose-fitting mask, not giving a reply back to his flunkies.

If truth be told, Crane heard little of their words, focusing on taking one step at a time towards the door of his makeshift office. This barn stood out in the sense that, unlike others before, it was clear the owner beforehand had some small room of privacy with a bed. Scarecrow wasn’t sure the complete words that left his mouth before he closed the door behind him, but they were something along the lines of informing Hammy that he should keep them at their posts until further instructed. The self-acclaimed Duke of Dread truly could have cared less about this. Batman was on the known outs with several others at the moment, and The Scarecrow hadn’t even begun working on his latest toxin and holo transmitter. It was simply something to say that made it seem as if he had any control over the situation.  
  
All Crane heard as he shut the door was the voice of Hammy ordering the men about. He removed his mask so quickly that the rugged and aged material actually tore; _that was a problem for another time._ In one motion did Crane fall into his seat, books, and papers tumbling down as he pushed his hands against the table. He took notice that his good man Hammy had placed several paper bags full of grocery items next to his makeshift desk, a pizza box placed on top of the dresser. There were certainly reasons the lackey had stayed in his good graces.

Before he could even begin to formulate an idea of a toxin that could counteract this, the band-like pain around his head subsided in an instant, leaving behind a feeling of intense somnolence. Pressure around his sinuses and legs remained, not to mention his now full awareness of the thorns that had dug their way into his limbs. He made his way over to his bed, the sitting motion an indicator of the thorns still digging into his body. Red stains found their way onto his hands and outer thighs as he took out a modest first-aid kit he had stashed underneath. After several minutes of meticulously removing them the best he could, Crane felt the sting from the disinfectant and delicate cloth against his skin. He was thinking only the most sinister of thoughts now.

_He would step on a hundred plants, rip out weeds from the ground as effortlessly as he ripped out fear from the minds of others!_

Scarecrow only found solace in reminding himself that her plight was meaningless, that society nor Earth itself would ever allow her own plans. Even if she somehow became a being so powerful it knew no cage, she could not control everything. For every scream he gained, it was one earned, not lost. For Ivy, every plant saved was hundreds more in peril. Only when a sly smile graced his face did Crane steady himself and settle in for a rest. He had played her games far too long and knew that had she intended to kill him, she would have attempted to already. Crane adjusted his sheets and moved his pillow. There was no fear in whether he would wake up again or not. What he utterly disdained the most - and perhaps she knew this- about Ivy’s toxin was the searing pain it caused to look upon words for hours afterward. Seeing as he had little patience to work on his devices of fear at the moment and his own self had been awake for nearly twenty-seven hours, Crane removed the other articles of his costume and tiredly slipped into a blue cotton dress-shirt and wide-legged slacks. 

With a heavy sigh did Jonathan rub his brow, settling back into the mattress with more force than perhaps he intended to. With a familiar motion did he remove his spectacles, placing them onto the dresser next to him. Once his eyes closed, he found that sleep would soon follow given his almost sigh as he slipped into the comfort of his surroundings. Rest like this rarely came to him, although to get it, Crane would certainly never want to find himself in these affairs again if he had a say in the matter. His mind was hoping to dream of her own demise; if he was somehow granted unrestricted access to all the chemicals in Gotham, well, that would utterly provide him a power that would know absolutely no bounds. His toxin would be a _blessing_ to her if anything. All this and one more quote did The Master of Fear allow before he found himself dozing off.

 _“For you little gardener and lover of trees, I have only a small gift.”_  
  
_**━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━**_ _ **━━━━**_  
  
_**7:08 AM //  
**_

_Burning….he was burning. Fire….gods, what was this._ His entire body felt aflame.  
  
Crane had awoken in a nearly panicked state, finding his own heart rate far more unacceptable than what he deemed fit. The same tingling sensation that he had felt upon his lips earlier was now felt throughout his body. In his half-asleep state, he could not recall any dream, nor reason that he woke up with such a heavy feeling in his abdomen and throbbing where he didn't feel it often. Until he retrieved a certain thought from his memory:  
  
_**Ivy**._  
  
She had created quite the chemical cocktail and the moment the grogginess wore off, he knew in an instant what had happened. After the initial cloudiness had passed, the few sensations he felt were more of a pulsing than anything. Vasocongestion, if he was being technical. He tried to focus on the modest swelling sensation in his left shoulder, a reminder of the time his collarbone had broken during a rather grievous fall - multiple building levels worth in fact - during an encounter with The Bat. This seemed to occur on occasions he was stimulated, a sharp reminder that the area was perhaps permanently damaged. Even still, for all the pain was worth, it was not enough to keep his mind off the current aching elsewhere. With a hastened glance did he look over towards the propped up pocket watch on a shelf nearby. _Perhaps if he focused on his heated face, or a quote from...._  
  
Damnation be to that harlot! Nothing was working, not even the most gruesome of thoughts or basic textbook terms. Whatever her own elements were made of, they were stalwart. He wasn't such a fool that he couldn't admit to that.   
  
He knew there was only one way to get rid of this sensation lest he lay in throbbing for hours upon end. He had an involuntary tick to his face upon realization. It wasn't to the level that he sympathized with individuals who could simply not control their urges; he did not believe in such a matter, as every person could control such a base urge. At any rate, intimate acts in the early world were well-written about, this he knew. Any other times were simply biological functions that served no sexual purpose; sex wasn't a matter he thought of often, if truly at all outside a literary and historical sense. An opportunity he deemed fit had never really presented itself.  
  
Not a lot genuinely aroused him; and the state it would take to get into that mindset, why, he found that he had far more _pressing_ matters. He would have almost felt flustered had he not been so familiar with the natural bodily anatomy and function. While he felt little desire in the way of pleasuring himself, it wasn't.........unfamiliar to him. When he could not rest whatsoever, it was sometimes one of the few activities that could envoke a somnolent feeling. Even then, getting into the mindset was an entirely different matter. The straining against his slacks and burning feeling in his abdomen made it clear at once what was happening.  
  
When this had first occurred, Crane surmised the sooner he could finish the job, the better. He would estimate these types of encounters with Ivy had occurred perhaps five or so times now, and each time he found himself past the point of feeling as if he was discrediting himself by doing such an act. He layed on the bed, turning to only find it was more uncomfortable each second; and he certainly couldn't turn on his stomach at the moment. What he imagined was going on with her chemicals was that cortisol levels and various endorphins were so raised that one could not overcome them without an antitoxin. The dosage she had bestowed on him was far less in nature than some, a fact he was well aware of. All of this aside, Crane knew that if he were to at least have an extra few hours of sleep and guaranteed meeting tomorrow, he would oblige Ivy in what she obviously knew would happen. The old adage of a "cold shower" would certainly not help in this case. He gave a few minutes of tossing and turning before realizing that he would either lay awake with this for hours - which he had, given time had not been an issue - or not gather the final ingredient for his most improved toxin, ' _Essence of Bats Fear Spéciale_ '.  
  
_And if it would bring him closer to finishing his toxin and finally elicit that drowsy feeling......_  
  
The sensation of blood rushing to various parts of him was something that he didn't feel often, but when he did, it allowed him access to more sexually scientific thoughts regarding the matter. Testosterone levels rising — what a debased excuse men use to induce fear into others for their own self-satisfaction— is something he cannot help but note, making up his mind to finally grip himself through his smooth slacks. The near sensation of relief felt better than he cared to admit. He was more than eager to get this over with. The stiffness was felt just as equally in his mind. His heart was pounding in his chest as a reminder at just how stimulated and chemically induced he was. Even more degrading to him was the self-act of spitting into his palm for lubrication and undoing the ragtag buttons that seemingly broke in his fumbling. He never started with just up and down motions that he perhaps knew most might. Feeling the sensations as his hand rested on himself was more than satisfactory to drive his thoughts elsewhere before actually starting the act. A certain psalm graces his cognizance.  
  
**_"Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green. The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir."_**  
  
He allowed himself slow motions for a moment, and on rare occasions such as now, admitted himself to imagine perhaps the act of hearing the cries of someone he was filling with both fear and pleasure. It was a forlorn and bitter sort of feeling at times, but one that he had thought of from time to time if truth be told.  
  
Of the sordid jokes made in Arkham regarding his own intimate habits, it was often debased humor regarding how he could only get a companion if he imposed himself upon them, or perhaps inticed them somehow with funds or power. The same scourge he had received from his former colleagues and society overall had seemingly extended to those who he would even deem worthy of being with him in that manner; these concepts had bothered him before at times, but now, he found that he thought little on the matter. For someone to give themselves up freely to him was something he could perhaps accept if he looked given his status now. If a simpleton like Nygma could find himself with a small group, why certainly he might achieve far greater admirers in that realm Crane told himself. And he had indeed received the odd letter before in Arkham and compliments elsewhere; even a fine specimen such as dear Catwoman seemed to enjoy his banter. What some might call "the mood" never struck him. Now, if he wished for sleep before his meeting in nearly two hours, it would have to.   
  
_**"The elm loves the vine, the vine clings to the elm; why, then, am I so often sundered from my mistress? And yet thou shouldst never leave me, for thou wast wont to swear, both by myself and by your eyes, my stars, that thou wouldst never quit my side. Lighter than autumn leaves, the empty promises of those are whirled away and scattered on the bosom of the winds and the waters."**_

He just hadn't a chance to prove himself to someone, to hear screams of another sort. At the end of fear could be.....pleasure. Oh, he wasn't sure what they looked like, but perhaps they were as well softened yet defined as a classical marble statue. While ordinarily irksome in most situations, his own clear liquid had mixed with his spit in a manner that he could physically feel. He was soon moving up and down with relative ease. Somehow his arousal had intensified even more, finding himself harder than only moments earlier. It was both a satisfactory and burning ache, only relieved by his steady hand continuing to stroke in fluid motions.   
  
_**Even he could read further into Achilles and Patroclus....**_  
  
_How lovely would Queen Esther have been.....Ah, Lely’s Venus...how delightful and such a type that he deemed himself worthy of knowing._

He was finding that if he maintained this pace, he would soon reach a plateau that he was not intending to. The pause in his motions as he caught himself slowing down out of instinct was frustrating to him, yet necessary. He could not afford such a quick release at the moment given how her chemicals worked; the longer he was able to induce pleasure, the more he could sate those needs. Which, admittedly, was not always the easiest for him.

He wasn't in the mood for relaxation, nor to extend himself beyond anything required. While he permitted himself a strong grip for a moment, he found himself almost involuntary flexing his fingers just to get some form of movement against his hardness. His movements had become accelerated, slowing down once his thoughts had begun to wander elsewhere. If he didn't allow the toxins clearly imbedded into his system to somewhat build-up, discomfort tomorrow would follow even more than it already had.   
  
**"The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, Oh my beloved."**  
  
Even during all of this, he wonders how this drives people to what seemed like sheer madness. Crane found himself able to pause again, still gripping in an intense manner that he usually found unbecoming. He brushed against his swelling head briefly, his fingers coolness somehow not helping the searing heat whatsoever.  
  
The feeling of his teeth baring against the back of his upper lip is more than enough to allow him an increased hitch in breath that did not happen often. He had added all of his fingers by now and his mind could not help but imagine the enchanting woman that he had beheld before him just earlier, a dryad in nature and one that would be utterly astonished at how generous he deemed himself a solicitor. Something even warmer was building in his thorax. At this point, just stroking wasn't enough and he feels himself skip most of the build-up state that almost always took a fair amount of time to increase up to; and with his mind on other matters and no seemingly willing participants outside those that only seemed to toy with him, this mood was far from one to strike him. He was soon moving up and down with relative ease.   
  
Somehow his arousal had intensified even more, finding himself harder than only moments before. It was both a satisfactory and burning ache, only relieved by his steady hand continuing to stroke in now shifting motions. The length he had out wasn't enough, using his one free hand to push his slacks down further to reveal all of his cock. He had never measured himself, but if curiosity were to sate him, perhaps a bit above the average is where he would estimate himself at. It had certainly never caused him any mind for concern in those regards. If anything, it was rather clumsy and irksome at certain times and he seemed to lack most of the ability to last for more than a few minutes at periods.   
  
How his mind had wandered to thinking of Ivy and her deepened kiss she granted him years before is no longer something he is going to argue with. It was almost as if his thoughts could not go on without thinking of her every other half-minute.   
  
**_"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine."_**  
  
He had never had such an intimate encounter granted to him outside of her and the directness she had, along with precipitous power, was more than something that intrigued him. She had been beyond warm and moved upon his own mouth that had never been allowed such feeling. He could have drunk her in during that moment, for the way she had moved against him had seemed more willing and enchanting by standards than what he had ever been awarded. Oh, his encounters with other greats had been enticing, yet this chemical reaction now upon him was something he could not manage in the slightest. He could tell that from his hitched exhalation and closing of his eyes that riding this out any further would only create additional thoughts. A similar dizziness like what he had experienced earlier had started to strike him once again, his own thoughts fading in and out. Glancing towards the propped watch on his stand wasn't even within his mind right now, his only focus on the ardent warmth that only seemed to continue to build.  
  
**_Increased levels of prolactin, cortisol levels lowering in nature...whatever her toxin had intended to do, he would surely outlast it......peripheral endocrine regulation....._**  
  
The familiar sensation of his teeth almost digging into the back of his lips is enough of an added stimulation to bring him out of more textbook thoughts. He desperately wanted the release now from this and in fair admittance, found that perhaps he could no longer contain himself even if he tried, the pressure building up suddenly from seemingly out of nowhere. He didn't have the chance to slow down his rhythm as he felt a warmness develop from where his hands were, the heat extending throughout his abdomen. His mind drove into much darker, more recondite thoughts. His entire body was building up full of all sorts of desirous thoughts, going faster than he had ever intended to. The entire thought of someone wanting to let go with him willingly, no matter what might transpire after, was a sensuous thought when he gave it time. After all, once they said yes, that was truly a yes for him; after all, how could one disregard his nature, he asks himself. Oh, he could certainly go slower if he wanted to, having stroked himself mindlessly while reading ancient texts relating to the matter various times before.   
  
_This was not one of those times._  
  
_**"Better it had been to have left upon her lips the imprint of my own, better that her neck should bear the traces of my loving teeth. Then, even though I was as violent as a mountain torrent, even if I was beneath the sway of blind rage....."**_  
  
  
_**"... come behind me with your love, Oh! Sun, you have found out my heart, it is agreeable work..."**_  
  
He was pulsating beyond belief now and felt just upon the edge. It seemed like several few seconds of becoming lost in satisfaction before he felt his facial expression change and a slight jerk of his hips bringing about his final thoughts before he found he was on an edge he could not return from.  
  
_**Oh Faustina and Marcus Aurelius.....would he have been so different as those rumored stories?**_  
  
Everything else around him seemed less of a matter as he neared the brink of frenzy as it were. Suddenly, the warmth that he had felt building up was bursting inside of him. His own climax was far more of a mess than he had expected, the warmth of his own orgasm evident upon both his slacks, shirt, and hand. He had been expecting more of a letdown but found his hemicrania at least somewhat relieved and stable for the time being. The feeling and release had been wonderous for several seconds perhaps, yet had ended soon as it began it would seem.   
  
Appalled by the fact he hadn't even put a rag down, he wiped away the reminder of what had just occurred with the nearest cloth he could find. After cleaning himself and adjusting back to his state before awakening, he had concluded that some light reading and food would do him best in truly relaxing. Making certain to have wiped his hands yet again, he reached for his spectacles and adjusted them upon his face. He was no longer feeling most of the former pent up sensations, hunger now far more apparent than it had been in quite some time. Standing took steadying himself some at first, but he soon began to feel more alert once he had taken in food from the box his favored lackey had left by his bedside earlier.   
  
It was best to just put it all out of his mind and focus on other matters he told himself. Crane found it a relief to feel the stinging pains from the thorns that he had torn out only hours ago. He reached for his painkillers and took them quickly with a bottle of water. He decided to allow himself time to read before he attempted to find peace in The land of Nod.  
  
Crane reached down near his mattress to grasp at whatever books would come to him. More than a handful were scattered about the area. In his cold grasp did he find two books.  
  
**'The Tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra'** and **'The Gardener's Labyrinth'.  
**  
For only a handful of times in his life did he find himself tossing the books aside, grabbing for the worn copies of _Micromégas_ and some various antique text he had hidden away previously, the worn, dusty cover providing some sense of relief from such a horrid evening. He was certain that the toxin was still in effect, for the grogginess and heavy feeling still played upon him. After assuring himself that he would have vengeance in some manner, he allotted himself to settle back and continue his readings. A certain quote from Voltaire graces his thoughts and Crane allows a grin, for deep down he truly believes that her crusade will forever be fruitless.  
  
_"We are just in time to instruct ourselves a little when death comes before we have had time to get some practice done."_


End file.
